


Old Soldiers Never Die

by Truth



Category: Aliens (1986), Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: AU, Crossover, Death, Gladiators, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-24
Updated: 2007-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Welcome to Caladan."</p><p>The voice was unfamiliar, not that this was a surprise.  Dwayne Hicks, late a Corporal of the United States Colonial Marines, had long since given up the hope of hearing any familiar voice ever again.  He turned slowly, taking in the small room and high windows, looking for the speaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Soldiers Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/multiverse5000/profile)[**multiverse5000**](http://community.livejournal.com/multiverse5000/) 2007 science fiction crossover fic exchange. The prompt was Dune/Aliens, Duncan Idaho/Cpl Dwayne Hicks.

**The Spacing Guild's power, its ability to extort obscene fees from the noble houses, planetary populations and even the Emperor himself, was based entirely on a single truth. Guild Navigators do not make mistakes. Like all much-vaunted truths, this one was far more than it appeared and should have been interpreted thus: No one has ever _caught_ a Guild Navigator in a mistake. That does not mean that they are infallible, merely that they are very, very clever.**

\- The Observations of Irulan: A Political History of Empire

  
The slave gladiators of Giedi Prime were not all native to the arcologies of House Harkonnen. While slavery was not openly practiced in many parts of the Empire, there was never any shortage of either soldiers or gladiators for the protection and amusement of the Siridar Baron Vladimir Harkonnen.

No one questioned the origins of these nameless men openly. Speculation was kept private and easily countered by a list of those planets that still practiced legal slavery, or those which used the slave trade to rid themselves of their criminals. Like most good lies, this one was mostly true.

There were those among the gladiators and the soldiers who came from legitimate sources - or at least legal ones. They comprised the majority, in point of fact; men who had been lost and beaten down to the point where they answered to their designation without thought, their names long forgotten.

In the gladiator barracks, there was always the additional complication of drugs. While some of the fights were clean, any major bout had one or both combatants with a cocktail of stimulants and sedatives in their system. No one was under any illusions as to the honesty of the games fought in the Harkonnen arenas. The only real question, when choosing a wager, was which side the Baron or his slave masters had chosen to win.

Even then, mistakes could be made. An incorrect dosage on one side or the other, a series of bribes somewhere along the chain to insure a different outcome; eventually, wagering became more a science and less a product of random chance. The level of corruption guaranteed unexpected outcomes for those who hadn't personally invested in the match.

The gladiators themselves faced a double-edged sword. They had to be good enough to win, despite the drugs, but not so good as to attract attention. Becoming a favorite in the gladiator pits meant that, sooner or later, that popularity would be used to take the screaming mob for all the money they would put out - which meant a messy, public death. It was a fine line to tread, and there were no friends or alliances among the gladiators.

To have known associates meant that the slave masters would immediately pit them against one another for the amusement of the Baron.

With a constant influx of fresh blood, there were few gladiators who could claim to have been a part of the near constant games in The Barony. They either died or, if injured badly enough to render them no longer a fit competitor, they were sent to the slave mines. With that alternative, the rate of suicide among those wounded but surviving was nearly one hundred percent.

During the reign of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, the gladiatorial games were at their height. In an afternoon of entertainment, no fewer than twenty men would die for the sport and pleasure of the Baron and his people.

This particular afternoon saw the rise of a new favorite, less for his skill and showmanship than his utter savagery - matched only by the screams from the watching crowd for death and death again. While the Baron favored a civilized match, fought according to rule and tradition, this man was concerned only with survival and conducted himself accordingly.

He left one man with a broken neck, the next with a knife driven up beneath his chin and a third with his head barely attached to his shoulders. The howls of the crowd neither encouraged nor distracted him and while he showed the occasional, tell-tale hesitation of a man who'd tasted the drugs of the slave master, he refused to fall into the classic traps.

In the plushly appointed seats above the arena, the Baron's guests, having been promised an afternoon of pleasant diversion, were evenly divided between horrified and fascinated with a single exception. The Emperor's current representative, Lord Faltha Duar, was caught by something else and, at the end of the man's fifth match, a sure sign that the slave master wanted to tire him until he slipped and ended up dead, he spoke.

"Lord Baron," he began, pleasantly, "I see that your current man is quite the fighter."

The Baron had been drumming his fingers with displeased irritation against the railing of his box. Thus interrupted, he glanced up at Duar and then down at the ring. "So he seems." He made a depreciative gesture, ending it with a shrug. "He's just a slave, after all."

"And, as a slave, he is therefore a disposable commodity?"

Sensing a trap, the Baron gave Duar a sharp look. "He is an object and, like any object, can be easily replaced."

Duar glanced down into the ring, where the slave was being led to one side before yet another bout. "As he is so easily replaced, you will have no objection to selling him to me, then?"

There was danger here, and the Baron could feel the jaws of the trap closing. "Certainly you would prefer a specimen less... undistinguished."

Both men looked down at the slave, still on his feet, if slightly off-kilter. His feet were firmly planted in the blood-soaked sand, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The slave master's men were pouring water over him, cleaning sand from the cuts and scrapes he'd acquired so far and he appeared deaf to the chanting of the crowd. He was older than most of the men he'd killed and the bulk of muscle was that of hard labor and not of carefully weighted repetition. His movement was also that of a man who knew his own body and what it was capable of - in this case, killing.

"No." The denial was tinged with pleasure. "I want that one. How much will you accept for him, Baron, damaged as he is?"

Setting his teeth, the Baron chose a price that, while not outrageous, was certainly higher than would be expected for a mere gladiator. He held his expression of polite disbelief as Duar nodded and beckoned to his nearby man. "If you would have him withdrawn from the ring, Baron? I do believe that he's served his turn."

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, alarm bells were going off. Still, the Baron smiled, waving at the slave master and preparing a proper announcement. The man had won renown today and thus a place off-world. Yes, that would encourage the others and please the crowd.

Still....

Duar and his party were off-planet by the time the Baron's slave master gathered the courage to confess. His courage did not hinder his screams as the Baron had him dragged away.

Of all the slaves to 'accidentally' find his way into the arena at that particular moment, to catch the eye of the Emperor's Envoy, it had to be _that_ one. Steps would have to be taken immediately to insure that he died, no matter where Duar took him - and before the slave was exposed to any of the Bene Gesserit.

A Guild sanctioned embargo would destroy House Harkonnen, and that was what he would face if the slave did not die. Soon.

  
 **The Bene Gesserit are an old order, one of the oldest. Of all the secrets that they hold and protect, the greatest is that their power is contradictory. Their reach is long, their influence great, but they rest their order upon the obedience and support of each of their members. All must be woven together carefully, the warp and woof carefully supported by each sister and each Reverend Mother. There are times when that fabric has been flawed or torn, when a Bene Gesserit fails in her duty or is prevented from fulfilling it. When the fabric is not well-formed, subsequent tearing is easily visible in the histories of the time. How fortunate, then, that the Bene Gesserit are equally skilled at mending.**

\- Reflections of a Suk Doctor (Anon)

"What is your name?"

The shuttle had barely docked with the Guild Heighliner before the somewhat battered slave was brought from his tiny room to stand before with Lord Duar and his Lady. He stared at them emptily, his body still showing the effects of his time in the ring and the hasty patching up accomplished by the slave master's men.

The Lady Katherine, a tall, muscular blonde who looked every inch the farmer's daughter that she had been before her father had unexpectedly inherited a minor title, gave her husband a dubious look and tried again. She wasn't holding out much hope for an answer, as the man was obviously still suffering from the drugs they'd given him. "Your name. What is it?"

He blinked and swayed slightly on his feet, the nameless wreckage of what had once been a fine fighting man. Duar tipped his head and frowned. " _Soldier!_ "

The head went up, the shoulders straightened and attention was achieved despite the drugs and injuries, the bleary eyes fighting to focus.

Nodding in recognition of her husband's tactic, Lady Katherine put an edge to her words as she asked, "Your _name_."

"Hicks, Dwayne." The response was as automatic as the attempt to hold attention, something that was obviously costing him.

There was no way to tell which was the man's first name, and Duar asked, "Where are you from, Hicks?"

There was a very long pause before an answer was produced, and there was hesitation in his voice as Hicks offered, "O'Neil Station."

Katherine offered Duar a raised eyebrow. "Where is that?"

"Sol system - L-4." Hicks was slowly losing his 'at attention' stance, blinking dizzily at them both. "USCM, Corporal Dwayne Hicks...."

They watched him fall, crumpling in on himself as the various drugs warring in his system finally became too much for him.

"... that's ridiculous," Duar finally decided, rising to his feet and staring down at the unconscious form on the floor.

"Ridiculous or not, he believes it." Katherine bit her lip. "I will need to speak to the Reverend Mother about this."

"What?" Duar gave her a sharp look. "Why?"

"There have been rumors among the Bene-Gesserit for generations." Long, graceful fingers sketched a crude image in the air. "Rumors that I'd best not repeat here. Have our doctor see to him." She looked down again and bit her lip in an uncharacteristic show of indecision. "... and see if you can think of a safe place where we might hide him, my love. I suspect that it would not be in our best interests to be caught with him in our possession."

 **Little is made of the Twelfth Lord Duar and his Lady, the very businesslike Katherine. They had two daughters, both of whom went to the Bene Gesserit Motherhouse for training, as had their mother, and who disappear from our knowledge at that point. Their son, the youngest child, was groomed to inherit his father's vast holdings and showed a great deal of promise before the tragedy which brought his life and the line of Duar to an abrupt end. Some tried to find motive behind the shuttle accident which killed the Twelfth Lord, his Lady, his heir and a handful of his closest supporters. They garnered no support, even from the Emperor, with whom Duar had been a favorite.**

 **After all, the Spacing Guild reported that there had been a problem detected with the shuttle drive, but that the pilot had chosen to ignore their warning. They could not possibly be held accountable. Eventually, the 'accident' was pinned on a rival of Duar's, but nothing could be proven save that, once again, the Spacing Guild came out of a possible scandal with a reputation far above reproach.**

\- Houses of Empire: The Rise and Fall of the Great and Minor Houses of the Reign of Shaddam Corrino IV

There were several incidents, hazy and remote, involving the murmurings of doctors. He was certain they were doctors because things like 'heart rate' and 'deterioration of response' weren't usual bedroom fare, no matter how drunk the participants happened to be.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was to the sight of faint ripples of light dancing across the ceiling. The sound of falling water told him that there was probably a fountain somewhere near. The bed had clean sheets, with the smooth crispness that told him he was cleaner than he had been in a long time, and in a far better place than any in recent memory - not that his memory was at all reliable.

"Welcome to Caladan."

The voice was unfamiliar, not that this was a surprise. Dwayne Hicks, late a Corporal of the United States Colonial Marines, had long since given up the hope of hearing any familiar voice ever again. He turned slowly, taking in the small room and high windows, looking for the speaker.

Sitting beside the door, booted feet stretched out before him, was a man. With an astonishing clearness of thought, Hicks realized that the unfamiliar clothing was actually a uniform, and one worn with the familiar casualness of the professional soldier. He had a book in one hand and appeared to have been waiting for some time.

"Caladan?" Hicks' voice was slightly unsteady and he had to stop to clear his throat. "Where's that?"

"It is the third planet of Delta Pavonis." The man rose to his feet, closing the book. "Do you know it?"

Hicks stared at him, eyes flicking to the clearly visible and very bright yellow sun outside the nearest window. "Delta Pavonis is a red giant... and it has no planets."

The man's eyebrows went up. "I...."

"Idaho." The tall, blonde woman in the doorway wore a frown as she gestured to the man. "You were asked not to talk to him."

Idaho shrugged. "There seemed little enough harm in it, Lady Duar."

"As you've heard the beginning, you might as well stay till the end." She addressed Hicks directly. "Don't get up."

Her comment was well-timed, as Hicks was attempting to pull himself out of bed and just discovering that he did not yet have the strength. "I'm sorry... Lady?"

She nodded briskly, stepping into the room, a pair of men in her wake. The first was far shorter than she and, again, almost familiar to Hicks. The second man was tall and wore a uniform similar to Idaho's.

"My name is the Lady Katherine Duar. This is my husband, Lord Duar, and this is the Duke Leto Atreides, your host and ours."

"I'm...."

"You're Corporal Dwayne Hicks," she told him, gracefully accepting Idaho's abandoned chair. "You are also something of a difficulty to his Lordship and myself."

Hicks had no doubt of that. This was a lovely place and matched nothing that he could remember, missing red giants aside, from his life before the madness began - and certainly nothing after. "A difficulty?"

"We bought you from the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen," Duar informed him. "Where he found you is a mystery we would give a great deal to unravel."

There was no missing the twist of contempt on the face of the Duke at those words, and the expression was echoed by that of Idaho, although there was a deeper hate there. Hicks took a deep breath and chose his words very carefully.

"The last thing that I remember clearly is... fantastic enough to be a hallucination. We were escaping an... attack on a moon in the Zeta II Reticuli system - or trying to." Hicks looked from one face to the next, seeking some sort of recognition. "We were conducting a reconnaissance that turned into search and rescue that turned into a slaughter. I guess I'm all that's left." He pushed himself to a sitting position. "Second Battalion, Ninth Regiment, United States Colonial Marines...."

The Duke exchanged a look with Duar, while Lady Katherine and Idaho were staring at Hicks with something like macabre fascination. "In a space vehicle?" Lady Katherine asked.

Hicks nodded uncertainly. "One of the survivors was a pilot, and there was Bishop, our android, and I even know enough to get a basic transport from place to place."

All four of them were staring at him now, and Hicks fought to remember something, _anything_ of the dark, nightmarish past. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I think that, perhaps, you should get some more sleep," the Lady Katherine told him gently. Of the three, she was the only one who appeared more fascinated than mildly appalled. "Duke Leto?"

"Idaho, find Gurney and ask him to keep our guest company." The Duke nodded to Hicks. "Get some more rest. When you're feeling better, I'd like to hear more of how you got here."

Hicks was fumbling for a question that might buy him some answers as Idaho and the Duke quit the room, leaving him with Lord and Lady Duar. "Wait!"

They did, Duar turning to look at Hicks with an odd sort of compassion. "You're a very long way from home, Corporal. Lady Katherine and I must continue our journey, but the Duke will keep you here, as a guest, until we can figure out what to do."

"But I...." Hicks was left staring at the door as it slid closed behind them, feeling empty and extremely lost. He was too dizzy to get up and racked with aches and pains. It occurred to him that this might be some sort of clever trap or brainwashed debriefing. If he'd been more alert, he would've lied or told them something else.

At least he'd had sense enough not to tell them about the xenomorphs.

With a faint groan, Hicks subsided, sinking back onto the bed and closing his eyes while he fought with his recalcitrant memory. He slipped into sleep without any warning.

 **History is often unkind to the loser of any conflict, unless they go down in a spectacle of gore and glory which lingers as 'heroic tragedy' instead of 'weakness'. In the case of Duke Leto Atreides, opinion is often divided as to why, exactly, the Emperor abandoned him to his death. We can never overlook nor forget the Duke, in great part because his tragedy led to the triumph of his son and a change in the lives of every soul in the Empire. Unfortunately, very little is known of Leto the man and that is, perhaps, why people are, to this day, attempting to build a complete picture of the man who was father and lover as well as Duke.**

\- The Atreides Legacy: An Introduction

When Hicks woke, it was to find himself again in the company of a stranger - although at least his surroundings hadn't changed. He'd barely opened his eyes before being subjected to a pithy diatribe.

"I'm Gurney Halleck, you're Dwayne Hicks, and welcome to Caladan - although, by all accounts, you've heard that bit already. Consensus is that you were scooped up from a place that doesn't exist, due to a mistake by those who are purported to make none, and sold immediately into slavery in order to cover up all of the above." Gurney Halleck hadn't stopped talking as he'd risen and dropped a bag onto the bed.

Hicks opened it to find a uniform much like the one this Gurney Halleck, Idaho and even the Duke had been wearing. Gurney was still talking, however, and he tried hard to pay proper attention.

"I suppose it was a sop to the collective conscience that they don't have, those Spacing Guild whoresons. They could tell themselves they'd covered their asses without actually killing you themselves." He jabbed a stubby finger at Hicks. "Make no mistake, slavery on Geidi Prime is nothing less than a death sentence, and a particularly nasty and protracted one."

"I don't remember much of it," Hicks admitted cautiously, pulling the uniform from the bag to find a shaving kit and a few other bits and pieces beneath it.

"Which makes you one of the lucky ones." There was an ugly note to Gurney's voice which gave Hicks pause. Survivors always had a certain tension about them - Hicks could see it on Gurney as plainly as if the man had been wearing it emblazoned on his chest.

"Lucky," he repeated flatly.

"Ah, well, that's not how I meant it, truthfully." Gurney waved a hand at Hicks. "You're a long way from home, any road. Lord Duar bought you, although he comes from a planet where slavery is illegal, which makes you free - although still his man."

Hicks looked down at the uniform in the bag and then up at Gurney. " _His_ man?"

Gurney didn't look the least abashed. "There's the small bit of difficulty in that, apparently, the Baron Harkonnen, your erstwhile host, knew what he was taking on when the Spacing Guild dumped you into his lap. Lord Duar thought it best you leave you here, tucked away amidst Duke Leto's men."

"What does that mean?" Hicks shoved himself slowly upright, aware again of vague aches and pains that spoke of a long period spent lying very still. Thankfully, most of his confused dizziness seemed to have vanished.

"It means that the Duke sent one of our soldiers to Kaitain with Lord Duar to pose as his Lordship's new man." Gurney's broad face held an expression of disapproval. "In the meanwhile, you'll be learning as much as you can about where you've landed yourself, and helping us to understand how you got here."

"I don't have the faintest idea how I got here." Hicks wasn't _upset_ by this, but he wasn't very happy about it, either. The questions gnawing at him were whether or not the others got away, whether they were able to warn people about what the company had been planning, whether or not the rest of his team had died in vain....

He _was_ upset, despite the memories of the deaths and the slaughter being held at bay again by that long stretch of dark fog that he couldn't seem to permeate. Hicks found that he'd formed a fist in the fabric of the uniform and slowly relaxed his fingers.

Gurney had noticed it as well, and Hicks gained the impression that very little slipped past the other man. "You were a soldier." It wasn't a question.

"I was a soldier." Hicks continued to stare down at his hand, thinking it strange that he had new calluses atop the old and no memory of how they'd been won. "All my life."

There was a moment of respectful silence from Gurney before he cleared his throat. "Your life isn't over yet and if you've a mind to take up service anew, there are worse places to train than with the men of our Duke."

Hicks gave him a lopsided smile, looking up at the other man. "It would be a place to start."

 **Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV was a great man. What few people remember is that 'great' does not necessarily mean 'admirable' or even 'good'. The hold of the Padishah Emperor over the Landsraad was, at best, a matter of consensually granted power and never before was the phrase 'uneasy lies the head that wears the crown' so apt. Powerful, competent and ruthless, Shaddam Corrino IV was also corrupt. Manipulated by the Bene Gesserit, threatened by the Spacing Guild and held hostage by the feuds of the Great Houses, he did what was necessary in order to survive. The health of the Empire was a consideration, certainly, but before everything else, Shaddam Corrino IV was loyal to his own House and the continuance of its power.**

\- The Observations of Irulan: A Political History of Empire

Three weeks passed as Hicks was introduced to the Atreides way of waging war and he found it very strange indeed. Gone were the restrictive body armor, the heavy weapons and the small, mostly independent units of the USCM. Instead there came instruction in the knife and sword, the use of small, independent shields and the discovery that each of the Great Houses, of which Atreides was one, had their own atomic weapons.

He'd nearly spat his soup across the small table at Duncan Idaho, much to Gurney's amusement. "They have atomics where you come from, I take it?"

"Held by the government, yes."

"Here, our governments are slightly more personal," Duncan told him, moving slightly to the left and out of danger of a direct shower. "Or so I've gathered."

"I've never thought to hear an entire planetary government called 'personal'." Hicks gave Gurney a sardonic look, certain that the man had produced the casual comment about 'Family Atomics' just then on purpose.

"It's our way," Duncan assured him blithely, making a movement which indicated he'd just kicked Gurney under the table. The other man's mouth, open for some new comment, snapped shut, and Gurney gave Duncan an accusing look but held his peace. "You're adjusting well, Hicks... but you'll never be a swordsman."

Hicks shrugged, unbothered by this analysis. "I can still shoot."

"You can use a knife as well," Gurney allowed, moving out of the way of another kick from Idaho by the simple expedience of rising to his feet and gathering his own dinner. "But I think it's too late to teach you how to be deadly while wearing a shield. You've a lifetime of dirty tricks already under your belt and to adjust them to a shield would require beginning anew."

"He's not planning on fighting any duels, Gurney," Duncan pointed out, laughing softly at the other man's obvious retreat. "He'll find a place - and he still has a lot to learn."

"An entire universe worth." Hicks looked down at his dinner, making a face at the selection of foods which, after almost a month, were still strange to him.

The other men exchanged a look and Gurney tactfully withdrew. Duncan shifted in his chair, turning to look more closely at Hicks. "More than you know."

Hicks glanced up, frowning. "And that means?"

Duncan made a gesture with his hands. "We received word this morning after the Duke had left for Kaitain that there'd been a shuttle accident almost two weeks ago, carefully hushed up until the investigation by the Spacing Guild and the Landsraad was complete."

"An accident?" Hicks blinked. "What sort of accident?"

"The sort that's not really an accident." Duncan's face was suddenly grim. "Lord and Lady Duar and their son, their retainers and a certain Dwayne Hicks were killed. The Lady Katherine left several messages here to be delivered if something were to happen to her and, with my Duke's permission, I opened the one she'd left for him."

Hicks stared, eyes wide. "... murdered?" It was strangely unsettling to find how much the thought affected him. He'd been kept away from the main group of Atreides soldiers and hadn't exactly been associating with the Duke. Aside from his brief acquaintance with Duar and his lady, he knew only Duncan and Gurney, the house Mentat, Thufir Hawat, and the doctor who'd been looking after him.

"Which is why they left you here on Caladan and took one of our men in your place." Duncan looked very much as if he'd bitten into something sour. "You may very well be living proof that the Spacing Guild's Navigators are not quite as infallible as they'd like us all to believe, and that's certainly a secret worth killing for."

There was a long moment of silence as Hicks considered that, pushing his half-eaten dinner away. He'd learned enough over the past three weeks to know that he'd been a prisoner in a dangerous, ugly place and that Lord Duar had rescued him at what was possibly the last possible instant... but no one had ventured a guess in his hearing as to how he'd come to such a pass, or encouraged him to speculate on his own.

He'd eventually told Duncan and Gurney about the xenomorphs and about the strange, dark dreams that he'd been having which were his only memories of his time on Giedi Prime. They'd been patient with him and listened carefully, but they were busy men and he was nothing more than another duty on a long and demanding list.

There'd been no inkling that he'd held a secret worth murdering an entire noble family to keep.

"Don't think on it too much."

Duncan's voice acted like a dash of cold water and Hicks blinked, jerking his attention back to the present. "You've just told me that something I can't remember is worth murder." Hicks paused, frowning. "Murder and cover-up."

"Murder to continue a cover-up." Duncan shook his head. "They won't be able to tell that you weren't on that shuttle, and it's in our best interests to keep it that way."

"I'll never be a soldier for House Atreides." The words were bleak. "I'm too old and the things I know don't fit."

"A man who can fight monsters and survive, who can help others to survive, can find a place," Duncan assured him dryly, "even if it's not the place he might expect."

 **There are many stories about Duncan Idaho, Atreides Swordmaster and last Swordmaster of the Ginaz. There are almost as many stories as he has had incarnations, from his first life through his many resurrections at the hands of the Tleilaxu. One of the oddest, which recurs anecdotally, is the story of his last months before Arrakis and the intimation that he'd become entangled with a former slave of the Harkonnens. Whether this is simple wishful thinking on the part of those who see his first death as a tragedy and prefer to believe that Duncan Idaho found happiness, however transient, with someone who could understand his own past on Giedi Prime or whether there is fact behind it has never been proven. It is, however, a recurring tale, recounted several times by the ghola's themselves, although a name has never been attached to the former slave. As such, the possibility cannot be discarded out of hand, although it also cannot be given too much credence.**

 **There are many mysteries surrounded the Atreides and their dynasty - from the beginning, to the bitter end. Perhaps this is simply one more of those mysteries, one of the few bits of undocumented lore left for us to dissect and analyze without any real expectation of resolution, even from the gholas themselves.**

\- Sheeana Brugh - Recollections of an Endless Voyage  



End file.
